“Rumpole of the Bailey”, created by John Mortimer, is to me one of the great characters of legal fiction, although perhaps slightly out of fashion these days. Calling himself an “Old Bailey hack”, constantly browbeaten by his wife Hilda whom he calls “she who must be obeyed”, addicted to fried breakfasts, small cigars and cheap red wine, and generally looking dishevelled in a crumpled old suit, he nevertheless has a sharp mind and loves nothing more than pricking the pomposity of High Court judges. He prides himself on his extensive knowledge of bloodstains and typewriters and excels at cross-examining his witnesses.

Above all, Rumpole longs to see justice being done. So, he constantly warns juries not to believe someone’s evidence simply because they look respectable or are wearing a police uniform, nor to disbelieve them because they are scruffy or already have a criminal record. And he never fails to remind jurors of the “golden thread” which, he believes, “runs throughout British justice” – the presumption of innocence. As he says, “The prosecution must prove its case. The defence has to prove nothing” – sentences which a lot of people would do well to heed in today’s atmosphere of “instant trial by social media”.

John Mortimer didn’t invent Rumpole’s “golden thread” as the phrase comes a real-life judgement handed down in 1935. But the idea that someone is innocent until proved guilty “beyond all reasonable doubt” goes back much further than that. Indeed, in medieval times a judge’s responsibility was expressed in terms of their status before God: judging was spiritually dangerous as any mistake would make the judge themself liable to God’s wrath. So, it’s not surprising that, in cases of doubt, it was safer to not find a person guilty: “the Juryman who finds any other person guilty, is liable to the Vengeance of God upon his Family and Trade, Body and Soul, in this world and that to come”. Frightening words indeed!

The apostle John wanted people believe in Jesus as the Son of God. I can say that because he tells us so at the very end of his chapter on Christ’s resurrection: “Jesus did many other signs” – I’ll come back to that in a moment – “in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name”. So, John is no dispassionate historian or journalist, merely recording events as he sees them. Nor is he just an editor, choosing and arranging his facts in order to give us an engaging story. He’s not an analyst, examining what he has witnessed in the light of trends in contemporary society. No: John is clearly acting as an advocate for the prosecution and writing for a purpose: he wants to prove to his readers “beyond all reasonable doubt” that Jesus is the Son of God, and he wants them to make their commitment to follow him. In fact, John is an evangelist, or – we might say – a persuader for Jesus.

Now I did say I’d come back to John’s phrase, “Jesus did many other signs”. And we need to realise that John carefully chooses the miracles of Jesus which he includes in his Gospel. He ends up with seven, each of which he describes as a “sign”; they are the changing of water into wine, the healing of the royal official’s son in Capernaum, the healing of the paralysed man at Bethesda, the feeding of the 5000, his walk on the water, and the healing of the man blind from birth. If you were counting, you’d have realised that I’ve only mentioned six miracles so far: the final (and probably greatest) one was the raising of Lazarus from death. But, right from the start, we read that “many believed … because they saw the signs that he was doing”. These miracles “clinched” faith for them.

But John is a bit coy! In the chapter we read this morning, he tells of other signs which didn’t “make the cut” for his story. Not only does he play with his readers by saying, “You know, I could have included many more signs – but I didn’t”, leaving us to wonder what he’s left out; but, more important, he adds in the story of Jesus’ appearances after the resurrection. Among those resurrection stories is the account of how Thomas came to believe: a man who wasn’t prepared to accept other peoples’ accounts but needed to see and touch Jesus for himself. As I said last week, his wish was granted – but Jesus issues the caveat: “You believed in me because you saw me. How much more blessed are those who have believed without seeing me” – in other words, those who’ve been willing to listen to the evidence on offer, have weighed it up, and come to faith.

However, all this begs a question –a very important one, at that. It’s whether we actually can “prove” the facts about Jesus – his life and miracles, his death and resurrection, his claim to be the Son of God and our Saviour – “beyond all reasonable doubt”. And it’s amusing to realise that this question actually applies both to dogmatic Christians and convinced Atheists, as they both work from the same premise of only being prepared to believe if they have sufficient evidence. The difference is that the Christians believe they have the conclusive evidence, while the Atheists believe there can be no evidence. Now I do believe in Jesus (if I didn’t I shouldn’t be standing here!) and I do believe that there I have a good basis or foundation for that belief. But, at the end of the day, it’s a matter of faith; I can’t prove it beyond doubt to anyone else.

For religious belief isn’t the same as scientific judgement. In science one makes a hypothesis which one then tries to prove in the laboratory. It’s necessary to err on the side of scepticism until one is absolutely certain of one’s conclusions – that’s why reputable journals such as “Nature”, before publishing a new piece of research, insist on other scientists repeating the experiments to make sure that they get the same results. But you can’t verify religious claims in a test-tube! Yes, you can check your ancient manuscripts to make sure they’re genuine and not fake, you can corroborate them against known historical facts such as Pontius Pilate being the Roman governor of Judea from 26-36 AD, you can listen to what the followers of a religion say about their faith: scholars have been doing all those things for decades. But ultimately there has to be a jump of faith, a decisive moment when you say, “Yes, I’m convinced: I believe!” with conviction and trust.

The American evangelist Josh McDowell wrote a book called “Evidence that Demands a Verdict” in which he tried to marshal evidence to prove that Jesus had risen from the dead.  He tried to find an answer to every possible question or challenge that anyone might ask, with the aim of converting sceptics. Well, it was a good idea: but we must wonder if his approach will work for most folk. For religion isn’t like geometry or chemistry where you prove theorems or propositions; most people “catch it” from their friends rather than “working it out from first principles” in an abstract way (and how that phrase takes me back to maths lessons at school!)

So, yes, John is trying to convince his readers about Jesus and wanting them to come to faith. In that way he’s no different to Peter who said that he “could not stop speaking of what he had seen and heard” or Paul who talks about trying to “persuade” others to faith. These speakers and writers laid out their facts and said, “Here is the evidence that makes us believe that Jesus truly is God’s Son. Of course, you must examine them for yourselves – but if you agree, then the logical next step is to become one of his followers”. Can we prove who Jesus is, “beyond all reasonable doubt”? No, we can’t; but the case for believing must be extremely strong.